


Nine Point Eight

by wajjs



Series: victor & yuuri being gross(ly in love) [4]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Angels & Demons, Angel!Otabek, Angel!Phichit, Angst, Character Death, Demon!Chris, Demon!Victor, M/M, Paradigm Shift, Prose Poem, actually my depiction of angels & demons isn't quite typical, angel!Michele, angel!Sara, angel!Yuuri, angel!emil, fuck things being either one thing or the other, prose poetry, things are a continuum from one extreme to the other ok, this is not your typical description of angels and demons, world changing truths
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-04
Updated: 2017-04-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 05:19:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10073834
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wajjs/pseuds/wajjs
Summary: Here I come, I yellAnd take a leap to HellSwirling wind sings for our reunionAnd nine point eight is my accelerationTake me to where our souls may live in peaceorThe one in which Yuuri and Victor aren't as different as they may seem.





	1. The Fall

**Author's Note:**

> This was based on this absolutely gorgeous and wonderful [art](http://pandorarequiem.tumblr.com/post/151912987641/viktuuri-angeldemon-au) made by [PandoraRequiem](http://pandorarequiem.tumblr.com).
> 
> I promised months ago (october 2016 actually) that I would write something based on it, and I never got around to actually finishing what I had written until today... That being said, as I rewrote what I originally had, now the story changed a bit and instead of one chapter as I had first planned, there'll be 3! The reason behind this is the simbolism: angels and demons are quite biblical beings and 3 represents the Trinity as well as it is on the third day that Jesus rises from being dead... aaaand I was going to make a zombie joke but I don't know how sensitive some of you might be to religious jokes? If you're, uh, a catholic believer (?) you might not quite like my approach to both angels and demons. Meh.
> 
> Talking about reviving from death, at first I was going to title this story _Anastasis_ seeing as it literally means rising from the death and it is used in the biblical context with said meaning referring to Jesus. But then I decided against it and went with _Nine Point Eight_ , my reason being the quote in the summary. It is from a [song](https://project-mili.bandcamp.com/track/nine-point-eight) called exactly that, and the lyrics are so good but kinda dark which is, you know, my jam.
> 
> Beginning quote of the chapter comes from T. S. Eliot's poem _The Burial Of The Dead_ that's the first part of [The Waste Land](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/waste-land).
> 
> Last but not least, I didn't proofread this, so let me know if there are mistakes, ok?

 

 

**The Fall**

 

 

“ _ That corpse you planted last year in your garden, _

_ Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year? _

_ Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed? _

_ Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men, _

_ Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again! _

_ You! hypocrite lecteur! --mon  semblable, --mon frère! _ ”

 

 

   There it was.  The whisper in the air.  The whisper caressing his arms, kissing his shoulders.  The barely-there ghost of eyes looking, _always, always, looking, staring,_ _waiting_.  He doesn’t know.  He ignores.  But deep inside, in his mind, in his soul, the truth sprouts and grows.  There’s no denying: he’s different.  Skin-deep, bone-stitched.  The truth is in the kissing of his joints, in the space between his collarbones, in the union of his scapula, at the base of his skull.  He’s different, _he’s different_ , as heavy hearts, as molten rain.

   Wherever he goes angels talk.  Mock whisper, judge.  The place where his wings begin, where the weight on his back stretches—stretches, stretches, reaches high, touches the clouds, —it itches, itches so bad, and he cannot wrap his arms fully around himself to ease the tension, to will away the pain.  White upon white upon white and gold and silver and he’s the same but he isn’t, he’s the odd man out, he is the is and he is the not.

   He wonders (To the Three Above, To the Three Among, To the Three Below), boy, does he wonder: why did you birth me, why did you conceive me, why did you bring me.  The Archangels look down at the crown of his head with pity, with fear, with indifference, look down, look down, and he sinks amongst the clouds until he almost touches the soil.  Until his white robes turn brown and rich and blue, mud clinging to his toes, feathers fluttering in the ground.  Hands pick him back up and amongst clouds he gets lost, friends there kiss his cheeks, whisper songs, clean his dirt.  At least here the Archangels cannot frown, cannot judge, cannot point.

   And he wonders (To the Father, To the Son, To the Spirit): why did you make me different.  What is my purpose.  What is it that we have yet to learn.

 

—

 

   Angels have and have not many different names.  In truth, their names are all the possible versions of one name wrapping lovingly around their foreheads, around their wrists, around their ankles.  Angels have and have not many different names.

   Some choose the versions they like the most, some don’t, some would rather be addressed only as their status, as a _Them_ and have the rest of the angels be a _Someone Else_ _(Someone Below)_.

   Yuuri flutters his wings and breathes in the morning breeze, feeling it caress his feathers and teasingly kiss his glowing skin.  Up and around dozens of other angels mill about, some diving into the clearing of the clouds, some coming from the ground.  Curious thing it is, that humans think their land is Below and angel’s land Above, when in the same plane of existence they go.  He thinks of Hells and their searing compounds, he thinks of Demons as eyes lock on his walking form, he thinks of silver, he thinks of feet covered in moss, he thinks of trembling souls.  Yuuri is different as each setting sun, different and yet so very much the same.

  
  


   It is Emil the one that finds him first—it always is, if you ask for honesty.  It’s always him.  Emil whose smile shines brighter than the light, whose eyes sparkle like rich wine.  Their hands find a temporary home together, fingers lacing in a heartfelt embrace.

   Friends who shared the same decision waited ahead, who chose a name out of the many designations they possess, etched underneath their fingernails, in the movement of their hairs, in the lashes fluttering with grace.

   “It is a precious morning today—,” Emil begins talking, voice filling and calm, like the gentleness of a lake but with the power of a storm, “a sight to behold.”

   “It always is,” Yuuri retorts, and their wings brush delightedly, “it always is.”

   “It changes minutely,” Emil smiles tenderly, giving his hand a comforting squeeze, “like all of us, all the time.”

   “That’s the problem with these changes,” glimpses of humans rushing can be seen when the mist dissipates, “they are too small.”

   Emil laughs and his laughter is like a being that exists in a different plane of life, so powerful, so warm, so accepting.  It’s like the open earth for humans, earth that accepts their bodies when they wilt, when they cease, when they no longer breathe.  Like a mother’s embrace, like childlike wonder, like ancient wisdom.  Emil is safe.  He holds no judgement against the different.

   “Maybe they seem so,” Emil says, irises melting like falling skies, “because we are too focused on what we know to notice.  Maybe they seem small and slow because our eyes have grown used to the general picture—but no change is small, even if they get lost in the big picture of chained reactions.”

   That’s when Yuuri remembers: if anyone is bound to notice the truth beneath their feet, it is he who was born as the epitome of the changing currents.

 

—

 

   Phichit is safe.  Phichit’s arms are safe and so are his wings as they, large as they might be, envelop them in a confidential touch.  Phichit is happiness and the soft acceptance of silk and the calmness of warm breezes.  Like the life sprouting from the soil after winter’s gone, like rivers, like forests full of uncoiled energy.

   They laugh and never think about how Yuuri is different from the rest—together, they are like any other angel out there.  Together there’s no trace of Archangels’ worrying over a future set out for Yuuri that nobody knows but that nobody can ignore.  When Yuuri came to existence from the kiss of incongruence like a flame lighting up the void, words were said:

We are but the same,

it is the beginning of change,

we are but the same.

   But whenever Yuuri feels like crying Phichit is there to kiss the crystalline rain away.  Kisses Yuuri’s cheeks until they turn a healthy red, kisses his forehead, his eyelids, his lips.

   “We love you, Yuuri,” Phichit repeats each and every time, and Yuuri gasps anew, feeling the honesty in the meaning.  “We all do, we love you, we do.”

   And the Archangels high and mighty for a moment no longer exist, the judgement vanishes, it’s just them, it’s just Yuuri and the love of all his friends.  It makes him feel like he belongs, like this is his Home, this is his Family, his Father, his Son, his Spirit.  Archangels would scoff if they heard him, chastise even, cold and cruel.  Sometimes Yuuri thinks their wings aren’t pristine white and gold, sometimes Yuuri thinks they are muddy black and brown, horns on their heads, thorns on their ankles.

   He tells Phichit and Phichit laughs with ease.

   Because everything with Phichit is simple and friendly, like Phichit is the embodiment of peace.

 

—

 

   It began easily enough.

   He would escape the eyes and go get lost.

   Forests were his favorite place to go, with the ever growing greenery, the wildlife, the solitude.  No eyes to judge.  No one to hide from.

   Yuuri enjoyed getting lost amongst the tall grass and the wildflowers growing everywhere, getting his robe dirty with mud and moss, climbing on fallen trees and watching the flight of birds.  Sometimes foxes would join and watch him curiously, sometimes they would dance by his side, lick his fingertips, nuzzle their cold noses against the naked skin of his calves.  No worry over humans seeing him came, since very few were ever reported to harvest such ability.  Free from the scolding Archangels he could breathe, he could laugh, he could be.  Yet he knew, never free from the Trinity, never truly estranged.

 

—

 

   It continued with a calm flow.

   Day after day he would return and he would grow.

   He did not mind the cold of the snow, the dampness of rain, the heat of the sun.

   Day after day he would come back and he would thrive.

 

   They cannot see me here.  They cannot chase me here.  They cannot forbid, patronize, chastise, stop me from being here.

   So Yuuri came back.  Again and again, like evenflow.

 

—

 

   “Can you feel it?,” Emil began one morning, eyes with a wisdom that spoke of universes lived and of loves lost, “It has begun.”

   “What?”, Yuuri had asked, desperately confused, but Emil’s hand remained firm around his own.

   What has begun?

   What has started to unfold?

 

—

 

   “Yuuri! Yuuri!” Phichit rushed to meet, hands extended, breath short puffs. “Don’t forget me,” Phichit begged, repeated again and again, like a mantra.  Don’t forget me don’t forget me don’t forget us don’t forget this.

   “I would never,” Yuuri said, frowning, “Phichit, I would never forget you.”

   “Remember to take me with you,” the other continued nonetheless, “please promise.  Please remember your promise.  Remember to take us with you.”

   Where?, Yuuri wanted to ask.  Where am I supposed to take you?

   “I will,” yet the mouth decided to say.

 

—

 

   The incipit was like this:

 

   Early on did he notice that another shared the same escapades.  Sometimes Yuuri would watch this other new presence.  With baited breath he observed each step, heard each harmoniously uttered word.  Felt each unfairly handsome smile prickling at his conscience and sending a tingle down his spine: curiosity turned to be such a fickle being, feeding him and his mind.

   Yuuri would watch unable to tear off his gaze from that beautiful, beautiful being.   _That beautiful, beautiful demon_.

   The knowledge of how wrong the situation was didn’t go unnoticed, rather discarded, thrown to the recess of the brain.  Nothing would happen if Yuuri was never caught.  Nothing would happen if Yuuri back to his friends soared.

 

   The demon had almost translucent skin that gleamed with each ray of the sun.  Short silver hair like a mantle covering the skull, thick black horns twisting in on themselves like a vicious crown.  The wings were so similar to Yuuri’s, the feathers would move the same, the rustle they made sounding the same.  The imprints of his feet left similar marks on the soil, wildlife sought them out like they were no opposites, birds never stopped their songs.

   And Yuuri thought of what the Archangels always said, of the old books some guarded, of the cold depictions of blood-thirsty evil beings lesser than the Angels themselves, creatures so ruthless and deceitful they were a plague to every earth.  Thought of red-colored skin and of black claws and bat-like wings, of spikes coming out of elbows and ankles, of several set of colorless eyes, fangs, death.

   And Yuuri only saw delicate movements in the throes of a delicate dance, long white fingers stroking fur and life, breeze combing through short silver hair and carrying out the sound when the demon laughed.  Yuuri only saw someone just like he was, someone just like him, and Yuuri knew not how to act.

 

   So he watched, and watched, and watched.

   Until his turn came with him tripping.  Until his turn came with his fall.

   His face met the ground and the air left his lungs.  His ankle hurt and his hands scraped, his white robe turned dirtier, the world around him gasped.

 

   _Then:_ footsteps.

    _Then:_ a shadow towering over him, laughter vibrating against the fallen leaves, mischief shining in swirling irises.

    _Then:_

 

   “What do we have here?,” the demon sang, and reality spinned as the full force of the change began.

 

°


	2. The Middle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But neither could be kept apart.  
> Like centripetal forces, they continued coming back to the starting line.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can't imagine the pain it was to write this chapter. It was almost like it didn't want to be written!! I suffered a lot trying to make all the things I wanted to put here fit, and in the end I had to compromise and delete a couple of scenes just because they didn't go well with the general flow of the chapter. All in all, I don't honestly know what to think of this. I don't like it as much as I like the first chapter of this story, but at the same time I'm oddly proud of it because even though it was such a pain to get done, I somehow managed to finish it!
> 
> I apologize if it seems rushed. Perhaps it would've been better if I had decided to divide this story into more chapters than just 3, and so I would've been able to divide the contents of this chapter in several ones and then I would've been able to develop them accordingly. But since I'm a sucker for symbolism, I didn't, and I stubbornly decided to keep this story divided in just 3 chapters. Yay me! Also, keeping the prose poetry style was a nightmare. You can literally notice in which parts I went like "oh fuck it I'm not being paid to do this". Also! I didn't proof read this, so if you find mistakes please ( _please_ ) let me know. I will probably reread this later and edit whatever typos I can find.
> 
> The beginning quote of the chapter comes from Lucille Clifton's poem _[sorrows](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/sorrows)_
> 
> WARNINGS for: pain. Lotsa pain, maybe? What have I done to my son...

 

 

**The Middle**

 

 

“ _who would believe them winged_   
_who would believe they could be_   
  
_beautiful    who would believe_   
_they could fall so in love with mortals_   
  
_that they would attach themselves_   
_as scars attach and ride the skin_ ”   


 

   A strong hand helped him up.  Yuuri felt the foundations of his world go numb.  He clutched onto the hand and gasped, looking up with eyes big and round.

   “Relax,” the demon laughed, then, thoroughly entertained.  “I won’t hurt you.”

   Yuuri’s cheeks felt like they had been set aflame, and he scrambled to stand up on his own two feet again, not sparing himself a look in favour of keeping his eyes fixed ahead.

   “I’ve heard the stories,” he protested, pulling away perhaps a bit too fast, “can’t have me fooled.”

   “Stories?,” The other all but purred, stepping closer once more. “Oh, I bet you sweet little angels know all there is to know.”  And the smile curling those lips turned almost feral, dangerous, vicious.  Hurt.   _Hurt, ready to hurt, feeling hurt—?_

 

   Michele’s voice thundered like a faint memory zapping his very bones.  Emil’s pain.  Emil’s tears.  No. _No._

 

   “We all know the truth,” Yuuri replied without thinking, retaliating, turning around and he…

   He ran.  Extended his wings, lifted off the ground and began to fly.

 

—

 

   “No,” the demon whispered to the open space in front, “no we don’t.”

 

—

 

   Habits were always hard to fight.  The forest called for him, the memory of a dance burned alive in the spaces of his mind.  He wanted to come back.  

   Every angel now knew, they knew what had transpired the previous night.  He had talked to a demon.  He had made it out alive.  Archangels looked from above, never-changing, swords gleaming in their hands.  They looked and judged.  They executed, they made angels fall.  And Yuuri did not know what to think.  Didn’t know if he should instead hide, perhaps inside the safety of Emil’s wings or the warmth of Phichit’s ones.  He had talked to the _enemy_.  He hadn’t even tried to fight.

   For what, he thought bitterly.  It was merely an accident.  A coincidence, nothing deliberate, nothing planned.  For what, when all he could think of at mentions of the demon was soft skin and silver-rimmed eyes.  

   His feathers ruffled, confused, so confused, so out of his mind.  And Archangels knew, saw everything, arms hands legs feet of the Father, of the Son, of the Spirit, of the Three, ready to strike.

    _Others had to pay for what you’ve done_ , went unsaid.   _Others had to fall_.  Yet you roam free, angels whispered behind his back, you roam free, you roam free, why are you different, why were you conceived, why do you have different rights—

 

   And Yuuri tried very hard not to cry.

   Sometimes Otabek would come and sit silently by his side, his wings not as large but even more powerful, shielding them from the judging eyes.  They’d watch the sun set and rise.  Sometimes Sara found them and without words joined their time, the three of them looking at the sky, at the sun, at the stars.  Sometimes the three of them would hold hands, sometimes Emil tried to approach, sometimes Phichit sat with them to just talk.

   Others had to pay for what you’ve done, voices rose, others had to pay but you don’t, you don’t have to, why are you different, why are you here, why were you birthed, _why why why why why_

 

   And Yuuri heard the forest calling for him.  His lungs burned with the need to spill his tears and cry, cry out, letting it rip his seams.  His skin itched in the places the vindictive eyes stabbed.  Now more than ever, he had been turned into the outcast.

   So Yuuri waited till no one was looking, waited patiently and then answered the call of the wild, running right in, running into it with open arms.

 

—

 

_Nobody uttered a word._

_Not that they couldn’t.  Not that they ignored._

_And Emil —oh boy, Emil, —bright as the sun, inspiring as the moon, Emil let his tears fall in two._

_Michele looked from afar, pained and barely alive._ Don’t forget me, don’t forget this, the lesson needs to be taught.

_And the Archangel’s sword fell swift and hard, the hand holding it sure and harsh, piercing through Michele’s wings chest and mind.  Leaving a hole, leaving nothing behind._

  


   “Can you feel it?,” Emil began one morning, eyes with a wisdom that spoke of universes lived and of loves lost, “It has begun.”

   _I’m sorry_ , Yuuri cried vehemently inside his own mind.   _Please forgive me, please forgive my heart_.  “I think I can,” he complied, unsure, bound tight, “I think I can.”

   “It is you,” Emil laughed warm and bright (and it felt wrong, it felt so wrong, out of place, forced, torn), “it has always been you.”

   Not him, it went unsaid.

   It had never been him.

 

—

 

   Yuuri kept coming back.

   I never learn, he repeated but it never sank.  The wind caressing his skin, kissing his hands.  It had never been the other’s fight.  They all had pushed too far.

   So Yuuri kept coming back.  The forest was calm, gentle with his wounds, easing his wings that were ever ready to run away and fly.  And Yuuri felt the other come close, come close till they were only a few feet apart.

   What is it, he wondered, what is it that keeps pushing us astray from what we know, afar.

 

   “You’re truly here,” the demon began, “thought I’d never see your pretty eyes.”

   “I have nowhere else to be,” he looked up at the sky and sighed before redirecting his gaze to the presence by his side.  “You said you’d be no harm.”

   “I did,” the demon smiled, stepping closer, calm.  “You must be desperate to seek out this talk.”

   “Archangels don’t listen.  No one ever does.  And I only bring pain to the ones I wish to hold tight.”

   “Isn’t that what always happens, little angel?,” those silver eyes followed the movements of the grass, “Aren’t we always bringing pain to our loved ones?”  He didn’t wait for a reply, and instead continued: “I can tell you have something you want to ask.”

   Yuuri’s throat felt so small.  “Michele,” he croaked, tears welling up in his eyes, “Michele, is he alright?”

 

   Silence.

   Numbing silence.

   This wasn’t the answer the angel was looking for.  He hadn’t come this far to receive nothing...  He needed more.

   “Is he alright?!” He insisted, turning around fully, hands closed tight.  “I need to know!! Is he-”

   “Alive.  He is alive.”  Relief.  Fury.  Confusion, pain, breath-taking pain.  (But who was feeling it?)  “How cruel are your Archangels, anyway?  Cutting his wings like that—leaving him to die like that.  For what?  For something that wasn’t even his fault-”

   “You are a demon,”  Yuuri bristled, “you would never understand-”

   “But I do!,” the velvety voice broke and a tide of unexpected feelings poured for all to see, there, in the ever green grass, “I do!  You angels like to think we are these—these evil creatures, when we are just what you pretend you cannot be!  Humans call us both alike, we have the same birth, the same life!”

   “You bring pain!,” the angel cried, in frustration, in disbelief, “You cause harm!  Take human’s life and chastise!”

   “And you don’t?!,” it echoed all around them, _And you don’t?!_

   “We are different,” Yuuri said, trembling, alight.

   “No,” the demon deflated, closing his eyes.  “No.  We truly are not.  Look at me, angel, truly let your eyes wash over me.  Look at our wings, at the glow of our skins.”

   “You have horns—”

   “You had them too,” (that was impossible), “long time ago,” (that had to be a lie), “before the first fall.  Then, you manipulated your appearance so there’d be a _Them_ .  So there would be an _Us_.”

 

    _Yuuri_ , Phichit distressed voice rang inside his mind, _Yuuri, come back_.

 

   “I…,” the moon in the sky made the demon seem so small… this had to be a lie… _this had to be a lie…_ “I need to go.”

   “Then, go,” the demon whispered, voice sounding raw, “but do come here again.  I’d love to talk.”

 

—

 

   “Oh, Vitya…” Chris velvety voice wrapped around Victor’s ribcage like an electrified whip, his smooth laughter resounding in the air.  “But we truly are evil creatures.  As much as they are, perhaps we even get into it a bit too far.”

   “I hate it,” Victor spat, turning around violently and facing his friend till they were eye to eye, “I hate it that they feel like they are _all that_ , and then sentence their own like it’s no skin off their backs.”

   “It’s because it’s not,” Chris smiled, fingertips tracing the shape of Victor’s chin, “You know Archangels.  They only care about the power rush, _mon semblable_.  Let the little winged one be,” he continued, tracing jawline with the back of his hand, “it’s only bound to cause harm.”

   “To who?,” he sighed, closing his eyes.

   “Isn’t it obvious, _mon frère_? To the ones caught in the crossfire.”

  


   But neither could be kept apart.  

   Like centripetal forces, they continued coming back to the starting line.  Again and again, and they’d brush shoulders and forearms.  They’d tiptoe around each other, testing, teasing, pulling, threading small tendrils of confusion and curiosity, careful awareness of each other.  It was maddening and enticing, exhilarating, tantalizing.  They studied one another without apprehension and without masks, stepping closer eventually, almost reaching out, almost craving to touch.

   “May I know a way to call you?,” the demon had asked then, and foxes ran past them, all around them, as birds sang in the sky.  The sunshine made his skin shimmer, like it had been covered with thousands of delicately small diamonds, like a dust of the purest silver, like the gleam of white snow on the harshest winter days.

   “Only if I get to learn a way to call you, too,” the angel had replied, a faint smile on rosy lips, and they stopped walking in circles, embracing the full-force of the other’s offered sight.

   “Of course,” and he sat down on a fallen tree, offering a wide grin.  “It’s Victor.”

   “Victor…,” the angel repeated the name almost like he was trying to discern its taste on the flat of his tongue, testing out its will and hidden crevices with the gracious movement of his lips.  “Yuuri,” he continued after a short while and moved to sit down amongst fallen leaves, “Mine’s Yuuri.”

   “It sounds nice,” Victor commented idly, absentmindedly running his fingers across the slightly damp surface of the old trunk, “ _Yuuri_ … Reminds me of flowers, lilies perhaps, something tender… Truly fit for an angel.”

   “Not many would say that,” Yuuri sighed, feeling comfortable enough to close his eyes.  Distantly he could feel on his skin the always-present hum of his home, that place he’d been running away from more and more as the judging glances only seemed to grow.  Fit for an angel.  Not even he himself did he think he was truly fit to be an angel.

   Perhaps The Three had been wrong all along—

   “I couldn’t be bothered any less about whatever others might say,” Victor laughed, the sound loud yet calm, “but it’s safe to guess not everybody is the same.”

 

   “They don’t like me,” Yuuri whispered, almost like the weight of the words was enough to bury him, break him, leave him with an open gaping wound where all his vital energy steadily streamed away, like a river.  Victor’s gaze on him had such intent that it woke minimal fires over the expanse of the canvas that was Yuuri’s skin, setting alight every exposed patch.  It almost felt like an external force trying to claim what had no place belonging to someone as much as a force that wanted to protect.  The intensity of the eyes awoke both heat and cold.  The feathers of his wings ruffled visibly and he in turn extended that set of limbs that were just as important as his arms and legs.  

   The world seemed to slow down into a gentle halt the moment Yuuri’s wings were completely spread in all their powerful beauty.  A whispering voice located somewhere in the recesses of his mind gently reminded him of what this position definitely looked like for the demon’s inquisitive eyes:

you’re showing yourself,

presenting yourself,

offering yourself

to him

_to him_

and the demon — _and Victor_ , he… he…

he spread his wings

presenting himself,

offering himself,

to him

_to him_

   “I like you just fine,” Victor said without wasting a beat, his smile gentle though wide, “I think I’ve always had.  Since that day we crossed paths.”  (Or even before that.)

   “Oh Holy Trinity…,” Yuuri shuddered, a wave of panic arousing inside.  “We can’t! We—”

   “My dear Yuuri,” the demon’s expression turned sad, in its shadow the presence of longing not entirely disguised, “ _Oh, Yuuri_ .  We definitely can.  The matter is: will you allow yourself?  Will you give _us_ a chance?”

   “This is a mistake,” was Yuuri’s immediate reply, “a horrible, horrible mistake.  I don’t—I don’t want to be with you.  There _can’t_ be an ‘us’!  You saw what happened to Michele!! And that was between angels, imagine what would happen to me if… if…”

 

   Victor looked not only hurt, but also furious.  He stood up, his wings closing in on themselves and almost wrapping the demon’s entire form.  They were acting like the shield they were, and the image struck the angel to his very core.  He had said too much.  Had been too harsh.  He never meant to cause this, he never meant to cause harm—

   “You hypocrite!,” the demon all but spat, his expression thunderous, his eyes darkening as the sky above turned ominous with the energy of the impending storm about to crash.  “You truly believe you are the only one with something to lose?!  And all that talk about angels never causing harm, what was that?  You saw for yourself, you proved yourself utterly wrong.  And yet you’re right,” he continued as he rushed away from their meeting point, away, away, and thunder and lightning cracked above their heads, rain falling unforgiving on them.  Like they both were lost souls hiding away from the judgemental eyes.  The world had started spinning faster than ever, trying to get back the time it had lost when it had stopped to a halt.  “You’re right.  Us—we are… — _you_ ... —I am the mistake.  I have _always_ been the mistake.”

 

   And with that Victor was gone, leaving Yuuri in the forest, alone, just as the storm began to fall.

 

—

 

   Coming back to what for the entire duration of his life he had thought of as family set his fears alight.  A heavy, intricately heady, feeling had lodged itself in the center of his heart.  Every step he gave was measured, his muscles feeling like they were ready to fail him with the very effort to stay upright.  His wings hung dejectedly on his back.  It was like they had lost their natural reason to shine or to hold themselves with pride.  Eyes burning and pale skin almost translucent, he hurried to his safe nest and proceeded to hide.

   The muscles of his stomach clamped painfully, almost depriving him of all the air his lungs had managed to hold within themselves.  What had happened back in the forest?   _What_ , exactly?  With the immediate rejection and the following loneliness something inside him had been lost.  Stolen away, perhaps.  But _what_ , what was the part of himself that was missing?   _Why_ had it hurt so much, if he had done what was right?  An angel and a demon had no place being together in worlds like the ones hosting their lives.  Not when even bonds amongst angels themselves were mercilessly severed, not when love was not their right.

   A sob racked throughout his whole body, rolling out of the plush of his lips thunderous and heart-breaking.  He laid on the floor, curling in on himself as his fingers clutched onto the fabric of his robe.  Each whimper, every sob, they left him feeling like a part of himself was getting destroyed, and his wings closed in around his body as his crying tore through his very core.  He couldn’t even contain the volume of his voice, he couldn’t fathom a way to make it stop.  With Victor things had felt so natural, so easy, so correct.  Not even once had the demon judged him.  Not even once had there been the desire to harm.  He had felt safe, accepted, to the point where his unconscious had came to the natural conclusion that perhaps Victor had always been the starting point of the words that came with his birth.  Maybe the prospect of change that had always marked him as different had some of its roots ingrained within the demon.  Perhaps that’s why it had all felt so natural—presenting himself to him.  Being wanted as well.

   There was a whisper of titillating, undulating voices caressing his shuddering mind.  At the touch he came undone, his tears no longer raining down the corners of his tired eyes.   _He is part of the changing nature and so are you_ , the voices said.  Yuuri was struck with a sudden realization: The Father, The Son, The Spirit, they were… they were...

 

   “Yuuri!” Sara came rushing in, her breath gone in short puffs.  There were tear tracks condecorating the soft skin of her cheeks.  “Yuuri, _please_ —Emil… Emil and Otabek—”

   Uncoiled energy thrumming through his limbs, he stood up at once, forgetting the marks of his own tears.  “What,” he was almost too afraid to ask, “what is happening?”

   “The Archangels,” she sobbed, her shaking hands finding their way to Yuuri’s and holding onto them for dear life, “Otabek… Otabek went against them to save a human — _he fell in love with a human_ , and- and they found out- they are going to—”

   In the distance, Phichit screams resonated with unknown strength.  It made the hairs on the back of Yuuri’s neck stand on their ends.  The world as they knew was collapsing, falling, and they were falling with it as well.

   “Emil—,” his voice coiled tight inside the confines of his throat, a hysterical sob making its way to the surface, “He’s the only one that can open the execution portal, is he- is he- did they _force him_ again?”   _Like they forced him when word got out he had bonded with Michele?  Like they broke him so they could carry on with the punishment_ —so they could banish his beloved, because angels cannot love the way Michele and Emil had loved.

   “He needs you!,” was Sara’s reply before she began running again, to the center of the chaos, the eye of the storm, her hand still clasped tightly around his, so Yuuri had no chance but to follow her, even as his heart broke.

 

   The change, Yuuri, the beginning of the change, child.

 

   Phichit was on his knees, big eyes filled to the brink with tears.  One of his loving wings hung at an unnatural angle, badly bent, crimson seeping through the disturbed feathers.  One of the mightiest Archangels held the execution word high above their head, the cutting point aimed perfectly at Emil’s back, right at the joint of his wings.  Otabek remained underneath him, his own wings dissipating slowly into the wind of the swirling vortex that had formed amongst the mist, and he was looking at Emil with eyes accepting of his destiny, of his impending demise.

   “You’re going back to him,” Emil’s voice never wavered, and he framed Otabek’s face in steady hands, “You are going back to him, to your love, and you’ll be happy.  For Michele.  For me.  You will be happy.  Alright?”

   And the Archangel’s sword fell amidst the cacophony of despair formed by Sara’s anguished crying, Yuuri’s scream and Phichit’s shuddering sobs, the Archangel’s sword fell and cut a hole in the middle of Emil’s form, and Otabek was smiling at him but was also crying for him, and Emil let go for his hands had begun to turn to ashes, to petals, to rain.  And Otabek slipped into the vortex connecting to the human realm right after saying:

   “I will.  I promise.”

   And Emil laughed.  Loud and clear, for the last time.

 

 

°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun note: one of the scenes I had initially written for this chapter was a smut one, but in the end I decided to delete it :') No pain no gain yada yada
> 
> Kudos and/or comments will be more than appreciated! Please let me know what you think! Have a nice day (and thank you for reading) !


	3. The Rise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re undeserving of being an angel. You’re undeserving of the fall!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After staring at the doc with frustration and something akin to hate with the added bonus of the intense moment of suffering I went through once I was done with this chapter, I can now finally say that this story is finished!!!!!!
> 
> I must thank the always amazing and super cool [caterplina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/caterplina) for proof reading the hell outta this chapter and helping me figure out how to solve the mistakes that I had (and that I couldn't find on my own)!! You are amazing and I love you!!!!
> 
> Beginning quote is from Robert Frost's poem titled _[Nothing Gold Can Stay](https://www.poets.org/poetsorg/poem/nothing-gold-can-stay)_.
> 
> WARNINGS for: mention of injuries, (stabbing), something close to smut at the end of the chapter but it's very Soft and keeping the prose poetry style while writing that was a nightmare, I tell you

 

 

**The Rise**

 

 

“ _So Eden sank to grief,_  
_So dawn goes down to day._ _  
Nothing gold can stay._ ”

 

 

    _“Michele!,”_ Emil had laughed, mirth dancing on his ever clear eyes.  The memory was still fresh in his mind.  The feel of skin easy to track with his hands.  And Michele had smiled, had ran, right into Emil’s waiting arms.  Their wings had extended, connected.  Their flight feathers lovingly brushing together in an embrace that shielded them from the world.

   They had kissed.  They had felt.  Michele remembered it.  There was no way he could forget.

   From a pile of soil he looked up at the skies, wondering.  Was his love alright?  Did it still beat, his heart?  He could still recall his previous life: Sara’s voice, Sara’s smile, Emil’s love, Emil’s eyes.  How be had found a place to call _home_ , a place that welcomed him when his own wings had grown tired to fly.

   Chris delved from the shadows on the ground and stood by his side.  Silently they both watched the sky with the perpetually swirling stars.  But a sad piercing wind was picking up with the lament of the storm and not for the first time Michele missed having wings.  If Emil had been there by his side he would’ve enveloped them in his ever loving ones, sharing warmth.  But in this land there was no Emil, no Sara, so there were no smiles.  The wind roared now, and Chris stiffened, standing upright.

   “Again,” someone whispered in anger as the telltale of the execution vortex being opened in the Angel’s Land whipped like an agonizing scream, electrifying the atmosphere.  Michele stood as well, almost feeling his loved one’s pain.  Emil had always hated the vortex.  Sara had always feared it.  Said ‘one day it’s going to be us and Emil will be left alone in pain’.  Said ‘one day we will fall and there won’t be someone on the other side waiting to catch us’.

    _I will save you_ , Michele thought, _both of you.  I will hug my sister again.  I will hold my love again._

   And from the vortex a body fell, no wings to aid them.  The body fell and fell into the Human Land as a cold bitter (yet so sweet) rain fell on them.  Kissing Michele’s and Chris’ hair, their exposed skins, soaking their feet.  Rain cascaded like the ghostly memory of laughter and tears, making Michele’s heart sink.   _What…_

   “Ashes?” Chris whispered, staring at the sky at the vortex at the land all around them with dumbfounded curiosity. “Rain and ashes?”

 

—

 

   The roar of the furious winds of the vortex was a deafening sound.  It remained gaping like a mortal wound that would never close.  Yuuri screamed, tear tracks on his cheeks renewed with the power of his anguish.  Everything—everything he had held dear was falling apart.  There was no time to think.  No time to come with an actual plan.  Phichit’s howls still ringing in his ears,  Sara’s hopeless crying, Otabek’s promise.  It was too much.  He couldn’t stand it anymore, he couldn’t sit back and watch as everything burned.

   Yuuri hated.  For the very first time, he truly hated.  The Archangel that had doomed Michele, Otabek and so many others to exile, doomed them to fall, the Archangel that had killed _Emil_ —when he had never done anything wrong!  Emil had only loved, and loved, _and loved!_  Phichit didn’t deserve to have his wing broken, Sara didn’t deserve to lose the two most important beings in her existence, Yuuri, he-

   “Damn you!!,” Yuuri roared, wings extended and ready to fight, feathers catching the light and gleaming like sharp knives.  “Damn you, and all of your kind!,” he clamored, with strength unknown till that moment snatching the sword and burying it to the hilt in the Archangel’s stomach.  “You’re undeserving of being an angel.  You’re undeserving of the fall!”

 

   “Yuuri!” Sara pulled him back (When had she approached?  How hadn’t he noticed?  Had he been so lost in his own grief and wrath?), gasping, trembling, as her arms wrapped around his middle, giving him a semblance of calm.  At their feet the Archangel fell, disintegrating, his essence flowing into the winds of the open portal.  The sword clattered upon falling when there was no body to hold it in place.  Only then did he come to his own mind once again, only then did he stare at his own hands in horror, his lungs rejecting air.

   “What have I done…,” his voice cracked, shaking, and Sara held onto him tighter, “Oh Father, what have I done?!”  And the voices that had always been there from his birth, those same voices that had marked him as _different_ , had _cursed_ him, they became static, energy, they became a reality: change change change change change change change change the beginning of the change- but Father, but Son, but Spirit! This cannot be the change! The change cannot be more pain! Why did you let Emil die, why did you let Sara suffer, why did you break Phichit, condemn Otabek— We are your children, _we are your children,_ why curse us, why give us only glimpses of love —why are we alive do we deserve to be alive, WHY DON’T YOU ANSWER—

   “Yuuri, Yuuri-,” Phichit’s voice was broken, so raw, so breathless, “Please, Yuuri!  Don’t forget us!  Don’t forget me! Yuuri!”

    _I would never_ , he tried to speak but no sound came out from his mouth.  His chest ached and his wings quivered.  His knees failed him, and soon he was on the ground, clutching his robe, curling in on himself, gasping, crying, screaming, _never never, I will never forget you, I cannot forget you, I won’t forget this-_

 

   “Sara,” he said instead, “Sara, Sara- Michele is alive.  Michele is still alive.”

   “Phichit,” he said instead, “Oh Phichit, we can be happy—we can be happy, just not here.  This place needs to be born again.  This place needs to fall so it can rise.”

 

   And the vortex welcomed them, arms understanding and loving, like a caring mother’s arms are when reunited with her child.

 

—

 

   Victor lifted his silver eyes off of the ground just as they emerged from the vortex.  Behind their backs structures fell and feathers ruffled, behind their backs a New Land was forming from the remains of the last.  In the eternal order of things, everything had to change, everything was constantly changing, no river remained the same and no flame burned alike twice.  He smiled at the sight, recognizing the figure, recognizing the eyes, and his wings rose to their full extension, arms spread out wide as they go.  And Yuuri, with an ease he had never known, closed his eyes and fell into the embrace, his now dark brown wings enveloping Victor’s, welcoming each other, accepting.  Forever, till they became nothing but distant memories, accepting.

 

   And perhaps things weren’t okay but that didn’t mean that with time they wouldn’t get better.  And perhaps nothing was ideal, but when were things anything but real?  Wounds weren’t mortal and eventually they would heal.  Maybe scars would remain like an evergreen reminder of loves that are lost to the void.  Maybe some deeply etched into bleeding hearts would scab and itch during lonely nights, and maybe there were dreams that would never come true and whispered promises that would never be fulfilled.

   And Angel’s Land would start over and The Father, The Son, The Spirit may have cursed and doomed but had never stopped their love.  Yes, it hurt and it will continue hurting for longer than lives can be lived.  And perhaps not everything was bound to be perpetually okay, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be happy, or that they at least they wouldn’t try.

 

—

 

   When Victor was born not many things happened.  That, perhaps, made the occasion all the more important.  When Victor was born that was the only thing out of the ordinary that had happened.  He came out of a swirling star, soaking away its tenderness and light, and set foot amongst demons like he was an important message.  Like he had arrived to end the ruling night.

   From his emergence (birth) he had always glimmered.  Eyes fell on him and he laughed, danced, won over hearts.  He had always been one to attract attention and to him wandering hands always went.  But besides Chris as his loyal friend, Victor had known no one worth sharing his light with.  Demons envied and attacked, demons wanted and wanted and wanted, wanted to swallow the shining star walking besides them, scratch it and tear it and make it cry.  Victor grew strong and Chris was one of the strongest.  Together they claimed their part of the realm.

 

   And then Michele had fallen before their very eyes.  Through shadows to a bleeding body they stumbled upon.  The wings had been torn off, leaving deep wounds on the poor soul’s back, blood streaming down and tainting the land.  Victor’s eyes filled with tears and he cursed, Chris examining the extent of the damage, and then they were off, carrying the unconscious angel, curing him, helping him survive.

   “Emil,” the fallen angel had whispered during a feverish dream, “ _Emil_ ,” the name held reverence.  It felt like it held the answers to the void.

 

   And then Yuuri had tripped, truly tripped into Victor’s life.  It was like day meeting night for the first time, like two stars colliding into each other but never causing harm.  The swirling glow inside Victor shone so bright his ribcage pulsated with coiling energy.  He tried to remember his curse to angels and his anger at their kind; he tried to remember the fallen one’s pain, Chris’ warnings, the entirety of demons’ wrath.  But all he saw was his opposite, like they had been born from different ends of a dying star.  And all he saw was someone that wasn’t as different, that was so much like him, that had the same light.

   Maybe this other being came from the same birthing force, maybe this other had been doomed since the start.  Maybe we are meant to be together, even though we aren’t each other’s lost halves.

 

   And then Yuuri had presented himself to Victor and Victor’s heart had soared.  And then the storm had fallen and washed bleeding hearts ashore.  And then golden leaves had poured down on them.  Heaven had fallen and folded into itself.  But Yuuri had come out of the burning ruins radiant and anew, and his wings were magnificent and brown, like Victor’s very anchor to the ground.  Yuuri was alive and so were his friends, as Victor thought: perhaps Yuuri’s the shadow my light has always sought, perhaps Yuuri can be my home.

 

—

 

   A golden boy sat on a fallen trunk in the clearing of the breathing forest.  His thin fingers ran through dark strands of silken hair, on his lap a head rested.  The eyes blinked once, twice, before focusing, and the golden boy’s face came into view like a masterpiece blessing upon his very soul.

   He smiled.

   “Idiot,” the golden boy huffed, though the corners of his mouth softened, his fingers never stopping their dance.  “You didn’t have to do that.”

   “I believe I had,” he replied, “since doing so has brought me here, to you.  And I can stay this time.”

   So the golden boy laughed, and the forest around them came alive.  “Good.  I hate being alone.”

   “I know,” a bird flew past them, up in the sky, “I’m here.  With you.”

 

—

—

 

    _One of their many incipits was like this:_

   Their joining had been enriched by the long wait.  At first, everything was too new, too raw.  At first, they had to welcome the new world, find themselves in the confusion, let time take care of old scabbing wounds.  They held on, together, come rain, come fall.  Embraced, entangled, learning and breathing, getting used to the new life.  Then they had fallen in step with the rhythmical flow of existence, dancing around the void’s edges, skirting their limits and getting to love.

 

—

 

   The air felt different when entering his lungs.  It felt heavier, like a wet silken touch, filling him, coiling inside his core.  Drops of sweat condecorated the skin of his temples, the back of his neck, the hollow of his collarbones.  They ran down his body, dampening his robe, dampening his senses, making him… want.

   Victor looked at Yuuri like he was a treasure, a truly sacred being, something no one would dare to destroy.  Victor looked at him and Yuuri could see in those eyes the need and the lust, the reason and the impulse, the crave to touch, to kiss, to hold.  And Yuuri felt like he never felt before: like he belonged under his skin, like he held power, like he had found what he had always been waiting for.

   The air inside the cave was damp, aided by the help of the cold waterfall covering the entrance, aided by the desire clouding their thoughts.  Yuuri’s wings were no longer white, only the edges remained, only some feathers, and he stretched them as if presenting himself to a partner, _to a lover_ .  And he was.  He smiled, standing tall, tilting his head backwards.  He was free.  He was wanted.   _He was free to want_.

   With confidence he slipped the robe past his shoulders, down his arms.  Slowly he revealed inch by inch of milky skin.  The way Victor’s eyes darkened brought a thrill that ran down his spine like hot licks.  The fabric pooled around his hips for a moment, and they looked at each other with a millennial hunger.  Soon after it fell to his feet, leaving him truly naked and with no intent to hide.

 

   “Yuuri…,” Victor whispered, reverently, and stood up, fastly approaching him.  “Yuuri, _oh Yuuri_.”

   “I want you to touch me, Victor,” Yuuri said, smiling, hair pushed back by barely shaking fingers.  “Please. _Touch me_.”

   “I will,” Victor replied with cadence, “I will touch every inch of your skin, find every spot that makes you squirm, give you the pleasure I can give.  I won’t possess you,” he licked his lips, hands hovering above Yuuri’s hips, “I won’t possess you, because you aren’t mine and I’m not yours.”

   “Yes,” Yuuri laughed, pressing closer in pure unadulterated delight, “it’s our complete selves that fit together.  I’m not yours to have.  I’m yours to—”

   “Love,” Victor finished, running his fingertips across soft skin.  “And I will give you my love.”

  


   Heat.  Scorching heat, that was the feeling the flames trailing after Victor’s gaze left on their wake upon Yuuri’s skin.  Delicious, maddening, thrilling — _more_ , Yuuri whimpered in the recess of his mind, _more more more, give me everything, it’s not enough_ —

   A whimper escaped plush lips as the demon’s mouth nearly crashed onto the fallen angel’s one.  The kiss was unforgiving, demanding and yielding all at the same time, dizzying, exhilarating, so truly and irrevocably theirs that it left no room for doubts.  Victor’s lips moved against Yuuri’s, teeth biting, tongues searching and delving into wet warmth.  Guttural moans soon echoed through the cave, making them shiver, but Victor held on tight, never letting go.  His tongue circled Yuuri’s, brushed against it, before licking the inside of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth, never getting enough.  The angel’s lithe arms had found their way around his shoulders, pulling him even closer, pressing their bodies together, chest flush against each other as hip bones found solace right there, next to another pair of hips.

   Without thinking much, acting almost on an instinct that was stitched so deeply into their bones it was almost on a molecular level, the demon’s hands began exploring, caressing, touching.  Marveling in the never-ending soft canvas that was Yuuri’s unblemished skin.  Rough fingertips dug into the tantalizing flesh of a meaty thigh, sinking in, squeezing, and a vicious growl sang inside his head: _I’ll give you my all_.  His other hand held onto the back of Yuuri’s neck with almost a bruising grip, adoring each goosebump rushing to the surface, adoring the heat he found there, the way the angel tilted his head backwards effectively breaking the kiss only to let out such a sinful sound through the opening of his swollen red lips.  What a delicious mouth.  Such delicious lips to watch in hunger wrapped around his cock—

    _Soon_ , Victor purred in thought.   _Soon_.

 

   His silver eyes fell to the juncture of Yuuri’s neck and shoulder and between one blink and another he was grounding his teeth into the skin, sinking them, tearing the soft canvas open, dragging out blood and Yuuri—Yuuri, _fuck, Yuuri_ , he _keened_ in extasis, cried out, eyes wide as wild rivulets of pain and pleasure washed over him like the ocean tide.  The air was knocked out of Yuuri’s lungs and his toes curled, scratching the space between the demon’s shoulder blades (between the demon’s wings) with a tinge of mad want and desperation.

   Against his own thigh Victor could feel the weight of his beloved’s arousal, making his own reach new heights.  Suddenly it was too much and not enough, and with no further thought the demon had pressed the pliant body of the angel against one of the relatively damp walls of the cave, the sound of water rushing down and falling filling their ears, taking over their conscience of reality for a moment, before coming back to themselves.  Yuuri looked so beautiful all flushed and naked, the light seeping through the curtain of crystalline water making him seem ethereal, unreachable.  But the grounding feeling of his body heat, the sweet scent of his undeniable want, the way those gorgeous eyes swirled with a craving desperation for something only the two of them together could find—

   His slender long fingers moved from Yuuri’s thigh, his grip there having left bruises, and now slowly closed around that pretty, _oh so pretty_ cock, soaking in how hot it felt, how hard, so undeniably hard.  And Victor growled low and steady, the sound coming from the depths of his chest like an echoing rumble, like mountains falling apart and earth-shattering quakes, like thunderstorms and tornadoes and all the destructive but yet creative force of nature.  The mark on Yuuri’s skin, right there, at the joining of his neck and shoulder, was a branding mark, was a loving mark, was Victor’s desires and needs and fears and love.

   His hand closed fully around that mouth-watering cock and began stroking, up and down up and down up and down, and Yuuri was breathing quickly, chest rising and falling with each gasp and whimper, lower lip caught between unforgiving teeth, cheeks adoringly red, spreading his legs even more as he rolled his hips, looking for more, for it all.

 

   “Victor!,” Yuuri whined, needy, as the demon ran his thumb across the sensitive head to wipe away the pearly beads of precum already oozing out, feeling his knees weaken and his body shudder with electrifying pleasure, with the promise of what would happen next.

   The angel’s wings, though his back was pressed against the wall, had managed to spread themselves fully, and it was majestic to watch, it really was, how they surged forwards to wrap both of them, pushing them even closer, a definite barrier between everything else and _them_.  His own wings reacted at the display, spreading as well, feathers stroking feathers, and they held each other like that even as Victor moved his hands to Yuuri’s thighs once more, lifting him up, guiding those long, long legs to wrap around his taut hips.  The demon saw universes exploding with each blink the moment his achingly hard cock pressed sweetly against his beloved’s heat, feeling everything through his thin robe.  

   Their needs rose and encircled them, and they drank them in like sweet wine tingling their tongues, caressing their minds.  Yuuri hastily ripped Victor’s robe off of those strong shoulders and down his arms, loosening the vice-like grip of his thighs to push it further down, past those hips he’d have to fill with kisses later.  The fabric pooled down at the demon’s ankles, and their breathings stilled.  Everything stopped for a moment before rebirthing again.  And again and again _and again_.  Power thrummed around their naked bodies.  It sought them and licked their calves, their elbows, the arch of their eyebrows.

 

   “Forever,” Victor said, then, and pushed into Yuuri, their bodies melting together.

   “ _Yes,_ ” Yuuri replied, purred, squeezing his thighs around his lover’s hips, “Yes. _Forever_.”

 

 

°°°

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, no prep. My justification is that they are supernatural beings and they don't hafta go through every step unlike humans... yeah...
> 
> So!!!!!! This is it!!!!!! THE END!!!!!!!
> 
> Thank you for your lovely kudos and comments, and for reading this story till the end! Thank you for your support!! Hope to see all of you again in my next story~ Have an amazingly lovely week, and good luck!!!


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